


All Things Considered

by cinnamon_skull



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Smut, M/M, Pining, Slow Build, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-06-01 07:22:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6508348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinnamon_skull/pseuds/cinnamon_skull
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jason likes to sleep in the nude. Tim learns from firsthand experience. OR: a story about Robins falling in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Flightless Bird

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my loves for being excellent cheerleaders and believing in me (Tanekore, Ladelle and Generatorcat). This is for all of you - my favorite birds!

One of Jason’s alarms started beeping incessantly, waking him from a dream. Something green and smokey, the scent of gunpowder and sulfur lingering on his lips. 

The sensors on the fire escape had been tripped.

Jason pulled a gun from under his pillow and checked the magazine, all nightmares pushed from his mind. His instincts kicked in, and he was suddenly wide-awake and focused on the impending threat. His skin zinged with anticipation and old scars ached for the adrenaline. 

He stalked quietly down the hallway with his weapon partially raised, not feeling the cold wooden floor under his bare feet. The safe house was silent and still, and even in the dark, he knew the layout by heart: thirty steps more took him past the dingy kitchenette, and then ten more beyond that got him to the fire escape. His eyes were already adjusted to the darkness when he heard the faint click of the window latch.

Playing out the various scenarios in his head, he had about fifteen seconds to make a decision before the would-be assassin was in his living room. Jason slowly approached, keeping the handgun aimed steadily at the window.

He counted silently in his head, listening for the creak of the window’s hinges and the sounds of the city that rushed in as the intruder slid it open. A burst of freezing air hit Jason’s face, and he remembered it had started snowing earlier.

“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” Jason called out, taking his chances on making his presence known. It was a lucky call — Tim tumbled through a second later, the crimson of his Red Robin suit bright even in the darkness.

“Jesus Christ, Tim!” Jason swore. “I thought I was the one with a death wish.”

In retrospect, it shouldn’t have been a surprise. They had reluctantly been working together on a few cases, and it wasn’t unusual for them to briefly meet after patrols to swap intel. Though, he’d warned Tim to always call ahead on his comms first — he had several different safe houses spread across Gotham and beyond, and there was usually a good chance he wouldn’t be around.

Tim had a look on his face that reminded Jason a bit of the old Tim, the pre-Robin Tim who’d gape at him from the ground with his camera glued to his face. It was hungry and hunted all at once, even though he couldn’t see Tim’s blue eyes behind his domino.

“Jason,” Tim growled out. “Put that thing away!”

“Relax, Tim.” Jason dropped the gun to his side, self-conscious and then angry that Tim had a way of making him feel things so easily. He thought they were past all the gun shit, anyway. “It’s not even loaded.”

Tim made an odd face, tucking his chin and averting his gaze in a way that was very un-Tim. Jason had seen him go head-to-head with a livid Bruce without so much as a flinch.

“Not that thing,” Tim gestured frantically with his hands in a way that Jason might find funny under different circumstances. “The other _thing_.”

“What? Did you hit your head — oh,” Jason paused. Tim hadn’t shut the window behind him yet, and all at once he felt the chilled air against his skin, making him break out in goose bumps. A slow, dawning sense of realization hit him, followed quickly by hard dread.

He was naked.

He’d been so focused on the intruder that he hadn’t even noticed.

As a personal rule, Jason didn’t like showing off his skin — there was a reason he wore so much Kevlar, and then a leather jacket on top of that and it wasn’t the humid, polluted air of Gotham that heated the streets, even in winter. His body was twisted and ugly from the pit, and worse. Though he had hard muscle under his tight, scared skin, it wasn’t something he liked other people to see.

 _Hell_ , he even had a hard time stomaching it most days.

It was hard to tell in the darkness, but Tim looked red in the face, and Jason mentally swore. The dumb kid was probably getting secondhand embarrassment from Jason’s obvious discomfort and insecurity.

Jason moved the hand holding the gun between his legs to cover what part of himself he could.

It was too late to do anything about the rest.

“I’m bleeding,” Tim blurted out in a rush. And it was true — there was a darker pool of red staining his left shoulder.

Tim’s words snapped Jason out of his head, and for the first time all night he noticed how exhausted the other man looked. That explained why he’d just barged in instead of calling first.

“Alright,” Jason said, collecting himself and getting down to business. There wasn’t room for self-pity when Tim was bleeding all over his floor. “I’m gonna put on some clothes. You…take yours off and sit your skinny ass in the kitchen. I’ll get my kit.”

Tim looked relieved to be doing something and slowly nodded his head, limping his way to the kitchen table. Jason thought about helping him, but then he remembered his current state of undress.

That definitely wouldn’t go over well.

Back in his bedroom and pulling on a pair of boxers, Jason realized Tim was probably the first person to see him fully naked in a long time.

It was going to be a _long_ night.

 

<<////>>

 

Jason stepped under the hot shower spray, but it did nothing to take the edge off. He’d barely gotten any sleep and all he could think about was Tim.

 _Tim._ With his nearly perfect, milky skin lying a few feet away on Jason's busted couch that smelt like old pizza and spilt whiskey. He thought about finding some excuse to dip out, but the thought of leaving Tim alone to snoop — and Jason had no doubts he would, because Tim could never turn that part of himself off completely — made him feel a little sick.

It wasn’t even like he had a ton of personal items lying around, but that felt more like a tell than Jason wanted to explore, so he turned off the water and toweled off. He needed to get Tim out of his apartment.

The kid had been hurt pretty badly — Jason had to stitch him up in two places and keep him up for another two hours to make sure he didn’t have a concussion. And that was easier said than done when Tim kept sneaking furtive glances at him from underneath impossibly dark lashes.

Tim hadn’t been able to keep his gaze from lingering down to where Jason’s collar dipped slightly or where his hands were grazing Tim’s knuckles, rubbing salve over scuffed up and bruised skin.

And just when Jason’s mind had started to wander into dangerous territory in the late, hazy hours before dawn, Tim had flat-out refused to take the painkillers Jason had offered from his own stash, slapping his hand away and sending the tiny blue pills flying across the floor and under Jason's rusting refrigerator. In that moment, he’d reminded Jason so strongly of Bruce that his hands shook when he shoved a bottle of aspirin in Tim’s face instead.

Tim was lucky it hadn't been his fist.

But even Tim’s mile long stubborn streak couldn’t stop the image of his well-defined collarbones from flashing, repeatedly, in Jason’s mind.

Jason finally made his way back to the kitchen, dressed in a long-sleeved, stained Henley and a pair of black jeans that had the least amount of holes. If he knew anything about Robins, it was that they liked their caffeine.

Coffee, the great equalizer for wayward bats.

He was just setting the timer when he heard Tim shift on the couch, and he turned to glance at him over his shoulder.

Tim was surveying Jason’s apartment like he was looking for evidence at a crime scene, and it made Jason’s skin crawl thinking about what he must be filing away for later. When Tim’s gaze fell on Jason, his eyes refused to move away. Jason fought the urge to lash out under such intense scrutiny, sure that Tim was looking for the mangled body underneath his clothes.

Before either of them could say anything, Tim’s cell phone vibrated on the coffee table.

“Yeah?” Tim answered in a croaky voice. 

Jason watched Tim grimace and then proceed to hold the phone a foot away from his ears. “Steph.”

He could hear her yelling from where he was standing in the kitchen. _Mad_ was an understatement.

“Steph,” Tim repeated, brushing his hair away from his face. Jason’s eyes fell to the bandages wrapped around Tim’s bloodied knuckles and remembered briefly, how his skin had felt under his finger tips.

Jason could make out indistinct threats and curses that would make Roy blush. From the pinched look on Tim’s face, he knew he’d fucked up by not calling her sooner.

Jason watched as Tim bravely brought the phone closer to his ear. “Steph. _I’m fine_.”

This seemed to only renew her tirade for another few minutes — at least Tim had the wherewithal to refrain from telling her to calm down. Jason marveled for a moment at what it would be like to have someone care that much.

“Steph,” Tim tried again in a tired voice. Jason tried not to stare at the way his Wonder Woman blanket looked pooled around his sharp shoulder blades. The gauze was still white where it wrapped around Tim’s back and Jason felt a moment of pride — the stitches had held through the night.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” Tim said quickly. Another long pause. “I’m with…Todd.”

Jason picked up on Tim’s hesitance and turned back to the coffee machine, deciding he’d heard enough. If he slammed two coffee mugs on the counter with more force than necessary, he blamed it on his lack of sleep.

He stared out at the grey sky over his kitchen sink for a while, waiting until the coffee machine beeped.

“That smells good,” Tim's voice floated out from behind him.

Jason made a noise of agreement but didn’t turn. He really didn’t need the image of a shirtless Tim lounging at his kitchen table burning at the back of his retinas when he couldn’t sleep at night.

Oblivious to his internal struggles, Tim moved to stand next to Jason, pulling one of the mugs from the counter. As it turned out, Jason had worried for nothing -- Tim had slipped on a hideous brown t-shirt from god-knows-where that looked big enough to fit three of him.

 _I’m great in bed…I can sleep for days_ the mug boasted in bold, black letters as Tim brought it to his lips without adding sugar or milk. Jason tried not to watch the way his throat moved when he swallowed.

He quickly turned his gaze down to his own steaming cup, watching the creamer swirl against the dark roast.

“Thanks for the coffee,” Tim said after a few sips. “And last night.”

“Not exactly like I had a choice,” Jason answered gruffly.

But Tim seemed immune to his bad mood. And all he’d had was aspirin and a quick nap on Jason's shitty couch, after getting the shit kicked out of him on the streets of Gotham.

“No, I guess not.” Tim shot Jason an infuriating, half-grin over the rim of his stupid mug.

“Girlfriend give you an earful, huh?” Jason shot back, just to watch the smile fall from Tim’s lips. It didn’t feel as satisfying as he’d hoped it would.

“She’s not…” Tim drifted off, turning to place his mug on the counter. “She was just worried, is all.”

“Must be nice.” Jason knew he was being unfair and nasty, but he wanted Tim gone, and he sure as hell knew how to clear a room.

“Jason,” Tim said quietly.

“I think it’s time for you to go,” Jason said, turning his back on Tim without another look.

Tim hardly made a sound as he gathered his things and made for the window. He paused as he passed Jason, made like he might reach out with his bruised fingers or worse, say something.

But the moment passed, and Jason was left alone.

It didn’t feel like a victory. 

 

 


	2. Nightcall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason works a case and Tim tries to... help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter is inspired by a song. This one is Nighcall by Kavinsky!

 

It had been two weeks since Jason had thrown Tim out of his apartment. He couldn’t say that he regretted it much, but that didn’t stop his mind from wandering late at night in complete betrayal of his actions.

He could still see the sharp ridges of Tim’s shoulder blades peeking out from beneath his Wonder Woman blanket. The red and purple bruises that had marked up the perfect white of Tim’s thigh played out like fireworks beneath the blackness of his lids, more vivid and compelling each night that passed.

A cold shower was his nightly companion. He hated that Tim had stuck under his nails and wouldn’t wash out. Two weeks since he’d seen him in person, and yet, his name and face haunted Jason, even in waking life.

Four times, Tim’s face had graced the cover of _The Gotham Gazette_ , well-dressed and smiling at various charity functions and high-society parties. He exuded the same airy, playboy persona that Bruce Wayne had perfected over the years.

Except Tim was never photographed draped with beautiful women. He was always alone, aloof and charming, which no doubt added to his public appeal.

Two times while out on patrol, Jason had caught snippets of Tim giving speeches at press conferences or cutting perfect, crimson ribbons at unveilings for Wayne Enterprises on the 11 o’clock news. Six screens stacked on top of each other bearing Tim’s amused smile and his light, carefree promises of making a difference for the people of Gotham, like a poised, politician's son.

It still made Jason angry, thinking how easy it had been for Dick and Tim to blend in with the rich crowd, seamlessly rubbing shoulders with Gotham’s elite and then slipping on yet another mask in the dawning hours, swapping champagne flutes for grappling hooks. It had never been easy for Jason, who tried but failed, again and again, to curb his baser tendencies. Even as a child, people weren’t kind to him---they could sniff out his wildness, see the way that growing up on the streets bled into his rough manners and erratic temper.

It was almost better, that he hadn’t gotten the chance to learn. He would have never been able to play nice, not for charity.

Not for Bruce.

Once, as Tim’s eyes panned the crowd and the television crew zoomed in on his face, Jason could see the sharp, calculating gaze that had pinned him in place the night he’d crawled through Jason’s window. It was there, laying in wait like a bird of prey, catching just at the edges of his polished veneer and sending something hot pulsing through Jason’s core.

He ignored it for the feeling of bone crunching beneath his curled fist. Some scumbag pimp he’d found smashing a girl’s head against brick. Jason returned the favor until the lowlife’s face was a bloody pulp and chipped teeth hit dirty pavement. He was sad for once that his smile lay hidden beneath the crimson hood.

All the while, the memory of Tim’s eyes seemed to miss nothing.

Jason could still feel them on his back as he made his way to the very edge of the city, to Gotham’s polluted river. The dim, murky water lapped at crumbling shorelines, returning again and again to crash against rocky sand in an age-old, rhythmic sorrow.

The docks were deserted again, no sign of the criminals that Jason had been searching for going on three weeks.

Patience wasn’t his strong point, especially when he kept hearing reports of stolen children. Black and white flyers kept popping up all over the docks featuring children’s faces with the word MISSING in bold, black letters across the top. A cryptic phrase was always scrawled along the bottom of the photographs in chilling, blood red marker: pray or be prey.

Largely, Gotham’s news stations had ignored the issue, even though every other night nameless faces lined the shipping yards and ebbed into the water, floating like sheets of ice until the wet flyers sunk. Jason knew it was because these were street children--he could tell by the dead, hunted look of their eyes. Most likely born to poverty and abandoned before they could walk. No one was looking for them, no one wanted them to be found.

They were as good as dead, and Gotham roared on.

Jason felt his presence pushing against his back from the shadows, long before he spoke. He wasn’t surprised, really.

Gotham wasn’t big enough to avoid Tim for much longer.

“Looking for someone?” Tim finally called out at Jason’s back.

His voice was different than the slow, pretentious drawl of Timothy Drake-Wayne shaking the mayor’s hand or giving speeches about the dangers of global warming. It was rougher, but curved like he was always on the verge of smiling.

Jason wondered if it was a voice Tim only reserved for him. He also wondered which was more real.

“I thought I told you to leave me alone,” Jason said, his voice tight and cold. He didn’t turn around.

“Did you?” Tim responded lightly. “I must not have been paying attention.”

Jason swung around to stare at Tim.

He was leaning against the edge of chainlink fence, watching Jason from beneath his cowl. It was hard to see the expression on his face, and _that_ put him on edge.

“I’m not very good at following directions,” Tim admitted. The corner of his mouth lifted in an almost grin. “Robins usually aren’t, it gives us our charm.”

Jason’s mind reeled. “Us?”

“Well, you were a Robin once,” Tim pointed out helpfully.

“Way once,” Jason snapped, annoyed that he couldn’t keep his bitterness at bay. “Stop acting like you know anything about me.”

_Just because you saw me at my worst._

Tim looked like he wanted to say something, but changed his mind. Instead, he pushed off the wall and slowly approached.

Jason tensed, his right hand creeping down to rest against the gun nestled at his hip. “That’s close enough.”

“I have some intel on those missing children,” Tim offered. “I know you’ve been working the case.”

“I don’t remember asking for your help,” Jason said.

“I don’t remember you ever asking for help,” Tim countered. “That doesn’t mean you don’t need it.”

Jason couldn’t stop his fists from clenching at his sides. How could he have ever thought working with Tim would be a good idea? He’d been lonely, that was all, with the ghost of what it had felt like all those years before to have someone at his back, swaying in tandem while chasing a mark.

_Why are you helping me?_

_Why do you care?_

_What’s in it for you?_

Tim’s face gave nothing away.

“I don’t,” Jason insisted, his voice coming out a low, mechanical hiss through his hood.

Tim tilted his head and gave Jason a long, considering look. Even though he couldn’t see Tim’s eyes through the white lenses, he felt the weight of that stare again, the same one that had seen the twisted lines of his body.

“I’ll tell you why I want to help,” Tim said finally. “There are two reasons, really.”

Jason said nothing.

Tim sighed. “First, I owe you for the other night.”

Jason bristled at the reminder and the way their thoughts had a habit of trailing so closely together.

“You don’t owe me shit,” Jason gritted out. “I’m not getting into bed with B on this one.”

Tim made a face, his lips pulling into a tight line. It was the first time Jason had seen all the humor drain from his face.

“This isn’t coming from B,” Tim said firmly, his voice flaring with a spike of something that sounded a lot to Jason like real anger. “It’s coming from me.”

Jason considered that for a moment. He’d heard that Tim liked to go rogue, when he thought it was the best thing for the case. But there was something else there, something sharp under those words that hinted at an old pain. Jason filed it away for later, when he was alone and, hopefully, far from Tim.

“And the other reason?”

“I’m trying to impress someone,” Tim said, more lightly this time.

“Oh?” Jason replied flatly, his mind automatically going to Dick. Or worse, Bruce. “How’s that working out for you?”

“I’ll let you know,” Tim said with an amused smile.

Jason much rather preferred that Tim keep it to himself. He could fill oceans with the amount of memories he had of trying to impress Batman himself.

“Fine,” Jason huffed out. “Tell me what you know.”

Tim gave Jason a sly look. “Wouldn’t you rather discuss while enjoying a cup of coffee? There’s a diner not far from here. Great burgers, too.”

Jason knew the one. It was one of the few places he could go for a post-patrol meal where the waitresses smiled and the patrons ignored him.

The fact that Tim was also a frequent visitor set Jason’s nerves on edge. He’d never seen him there before, and it wasn’t exactly on Tim’s patrol route.

_Had he been watching?_

Tim’s body language gave little away in the dim light, outwardly projecting the same lazy, practised ease that belied his lightning quick strength and deadly precision. Jason had seen him use his smaller body to his advantage more than once, encouraging his opponents to underestimate him until his first strike left them reeling.

He gave the distinct impression of a man trying very hard to make it seem like he wasn't trying at all. And still, that annoying, knowing smile playing at his lips.

It was deeply unsettling.

“Maybe next time,” Jason said tightly, and couldn’t say why.

Tim’s eyes seemed to brighten under the cowl. “Looking forward to it.”

“So?” Jason gestured with one hand, impatiently. “Spill.”

“The church on First Street,” Tim said. “You know it?”

Jason could picture it in his mind with its plain wooden doors and faded brick. He’d stayed there more than once when he was a kid, when the Gotham winter had been so cold his fingers turned blue and his eyelashes froze together.

“Father Murphy?” Jason asked, warily. He hadn’t stepped foot in a church since he’d seen the other side in all it’s emerald glory.

Tim nodded. “He knows something. You know he runs a makeshift shelter out of the basement for women and children.”

“So?” Jason crossed his arms over his chest. “A dozen other places do that, what makes this one so special?”

“Four of the missing kids were last seen there,” Tim said.

“Says who?”

Tim gave Jason a look, but his mouth curved around a smirk. “You’re not the only one who knows how to work a case.”

“This doesn’t make us partners,” Jason said gruffly. Anything to wipe the annoying lift to corner of Tim’s lips.

“Of course not,” Tim agreed quickly. “Obviously.”

Tim looked like he wanted to say something more, but Jason turned his back before he had a chance, easing his way back into the shadows without another look. 

He had some doors to kick down on his way back through Gotham.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my dearest friends Tanekore, Generatorcat and Ladelle who cheer me on with sinful stories and great music.
> 
> To my readers - your comments and kudos were overwhelming (in such a good, good way)! Thank you, thank you! I hope this next chapter did not disappoint. 
> 
> <3


	3. I Wanna Be Yours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim gets Jason to go to the diner. Also they learn more about the case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is inspired by Arctic Monkey's "I Wanna Be Yours." I find the lyrics "wanna be your vacuum cleaner, breathing in your dust" so fucking romantic. KILL ME. Wanting someone so much, you'd want to inhale their dust = pining. And you KNOW how I feel about pining.
> 
> ANYWAY.
> 
> I made a resolution for 2017 that I would try to finish up a lot of my WIPs for this fandom, so here is my first stab at making good on that promise.

The stained-glass windows were dark as Jason made his way through the empty pews. Lit candles flickered at the front, casting shadows on the faces of tall, saintly statues, forming the illusion of grey silken masks that spoke deeply of deceit and yet hid nothing from from view.

His boots made no sound as he walked down the center aisle, choosing a row at random and spreading out against the uncomfortable wood.  
While he waited, Jason kept his eyes on the flickering flames near the front of the church. The candles wept under the blazing heat, but the light never faded.

It wasn’t long before Jason heard soft footsteps behind him. “It’s been awhile since I’ve last seen you.”

“A lot’s changed since then.”

The priest appeared at the end of Jason’s pew. He laughed softly before sitting down to sit next to Jason, his long black robes folding around his legs. “Oh, I don’t know about that.

“Trust me on that one, padre,” Jason said. He’d dressed down in his civvies for this visit, knew there wouldn’t be a point in hiding. But even in a house of worship, Jason’s fingers itched for the reassuring coldness of his guns.

“So, what are you doing here?” Father Murphy asked with a heavy sigh. His hands looked older and more gnarled than Jason remembered as he folded his fingers together in his lap. “I’m guessing it doesn’t have anything to do with confession.”

“That would take a _ffff_ \--oh, sorry,” he paused at the sharp look Father Murphy shot his way, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before continuing. “A really long time.”

Father Murphy hummed, one of his lips quirking up. “That long, you think?”

“Probably.” Jason gestured at the front of the room where a large crucifix stood against the wall. “Not really my area of expertise.”

“Then what?” Father Murphy prompted.

“The missing kids.” Jason leaned back further in the pew until he could rest the back of his head against the edge. Sister Nancy would probably have a fit if she saw him lazing around her pristine pews like a couch. “Tell me about them.”

Father Murphy went still and silent next to Jason. Shadows moved across the greying ceiling of the church, steepled and supported by dull, wooden beams. “What do you want to know?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Jason scoffed. The wooden pew was digging into the back of his skull; he shifted and moved his arms up to cradle his head. “It’s not a good look for Jesus."

Father Murphy’s surprised laughter filled the silent church. “Why don’t you say what you really mean?”

Jason straightened up until he was leaning into Father Murphy’s personal space. “Are you helping them disappear?”

“I’m helping them, in a way,” Father Murphy turned his watery eyes on Jason. “The same way I helped you all those years ago, Jason.”

Memories lingered at the back of Jason’s mind, of nights spent in Father Murphy’s shelter, of having a warm place to sleep and food to eat when he didn’t have anything else. “Then why do they keep going missing?”

Father Murphy signed, rubbing a finger against his chin. Even under the dim lighting, he looked exhausted. “You know kids don’t listen. They don’t get scared the way they should.”

Jason tensed. “Scared of what?”

“We tell them not to go out at night, but you try telling children what to do.”

“What have you heard?” Jason asked.

“It doesn’t make sense,” Father Murphy sighed. “The kids whisper about the docks at night, they talk about flashing lights and some kind of — ”  
“What?” Jason prompted.

Father Murphy swallowed, the tendons beneath his high collar straining. “They talk about it like some kind of specter, some kind of …. well, a ghost. It doesn’t make sense.”

Jason pulled away, frowning. “A ghost?”

“Sounds trivial when you say it out loud, but so many of our wards have gone missing.”

“Do you have anyone new to the clergy,” Jason asked, pressing the palms of his hands into his thighs. “Someone who could be coordinating these disappearances from the inside?”

“Jason,” Father Murphy sighed. “You know that Sister Nancy would never let anything happen to those children. It’s been awhile since you’ve visited, but you know we wouldn’t do something like that.”

Ever since he’d come back from the pit, faith had been a complicated thing for Jason. It was hard to keep believing in something when he’d come back from the dead. It had taken him too long to regain his humanity, but just long enough to realize that hell wasn’t a place; it was state of mind.

“Kids just don’t disappear on their own. Someone’s taking them.”

“I have faith,” Father Murphy replied. “You’ll find them. Stop whoever is doing this.”

Jason snorted. “That makes one of us.”

 

 

<< / / / / >>

 

 

  
Tim was leaning against the wrought iron railing leading up the church steps when Jason pushed through the double doors.

“Feel like getting that coffee now?”

“Have you been standing out here all night?”

There was that crooked grin again. The one that made Jason feel all warm and annoyed. “Well, not _all_ night.”

Jason snorted, patting his pockets down in search of a smoke. His fingers came up empty, he’d must of left his last pack in his other jacket. “So you’re following me?”

Tim leaned back against the railing, his face open and relaxed. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

“Stalking me?” Jason asked. “Yes, I do. Not very subtle about it, either.”

“That’s an interesting way of putting it,” Tim replied, his eyes shining with amusement. Jason couldn’t help but feel he was missing the punchline. “So, coffee?”

Jason glanced at his phone. “It’s almost midnight.”

“I didn’t realize you had a curfew.”

“No, it’s just that —” Jason paused, fighting to find a reason good enough to get out of coffee with Tim. He was oddly persistent, and it felt strange to be the center of Tim’s full attention. “I’m busy.”

In response, Tim glanced at the quiet, deserted street stretching out in front of them. “It’s just coffee, Jason. Gotham’s not going anywhere.”

“Besides,” Tim continued, grabbing Jason by the arm and dragging him down the church’s steps. “My favorite diner isn’t too far from here.”

“Maxfield’s?” Jason asked, too surprised to really dig his heels in.

“That’s the one,” Tim said, smiling up at Jason. He’d let go of his arm and was now walking next to him, and Jason noticed he was almost a foot shorter. “So, was Father Murphy helpful?”

“Not really,” Jason admitted. “But at least we can rule him out.”

Tim glanced up at him quickly, a flash of royal blue before schooling his features. He was close enough to Jason that their arms brushed slightly as they walked. “Did he mention a ghost?”

“Yeah.” Jason dug his fingers into his jacket pockets. “Shit’s weird. You heard of it?”

Tim shrugged. “Rumors. Same as you.”

They were nearing the diner. Jason could see its neon pink and blue sign lighting up the darkness.

“So, we’re looking for a ghost. And flashing lights. Not much to go on.”

“We’ve had worse.”

Jason hummed his agreement. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure what to think about this new information. They obviously weren’t chasing a real ghost. But something just wasn’t adding up.

A bell chimed overhead when Jason pushed open the diner's door. A teenager with thick black hair and a nose ring greeted them, grabbing two shiny menus from the hostess stand.

“New piercing, Camila?” Jason asked as she directed them to an empty booth in the back of the diner. He tugged his own earlobe and shot her a playful grin.

Camila stuck her tongue out at Jason as they slid into the booth across from each other. “When are you getting your ears pierced, JayJay?”

Tim’s eyebrows rose at the nickname, but he remained silent as Camila and Jason bantered. “Too painful,” Jason answered. “I’m not as strong as you.”

Camila rolled her eyes as she slid them each a paper placemat and menu. When her eyes fell on Tim, she started in surprise. “Timothy? I didn’t realize you knew JayJay!”

 _Timothy?_ Jason mouthed.

“We were in the neighborhood,” Tim shrugged.

Jason felt his neck grow hot at the easy way Tim answered, at the grin he shot Jason over the top of his menu, and the way Camila’s eyes lit up knowingly.

“Could we,” Jason cleared his throat. “Please start off with two coffees. Please?”

Camila pulled a small notepad out of her front pocket. “Sure thing, JayJay.”

She disappeared for a moment, leaving an awkward silence in her wake. Jason shifted in his seat, turned to glance out the dark window to the empty street beyond. When the silence was almost too much, Camila returned with two mugs, one black and one a rich cream.

"Okay," Camila said, pulling out her notepad again. "What else?"

“Oh uhh, our regular orders, please,” Tim added, his eyes flickering up to Jason’s for a moment before moving away.

“You got it.”

When she was gone, Jason leaned over the table to stare at Tim. “Did you just… order for me?”

Tim shrugged, his fingers picking through a styrofoam cup full of half-used crayons. “So?”

“So, how’d you know I had a regular?” Jason pressed. He took a sip of his coffee, watching Tim over the rim of his mug.

Tim selected a blue crayon and flipped over his paper placemat to the blank side, rolling his eyes. “You always have a regular.”

Jason eyes narrowed. “You’re so fucking weird.”

“Thanks,” Tim said, pausing with his crayon hovering just over the paper. He looked the opposite of upset, his eyes warm and glittering with laughter. Again, Jason was left feeling like he was on the outside of some cosmic joke he hadn’t yet figured out.

“You’re annoying.”

“Do you like playing games?” Tim asked.

“What?”

“Games,” Tim tapped his crayon against the blank sheet of paper. “While we wait for the food.”

“Like?”

Tim started to draw a shoddy hangman stand, and then drew six long dashes beneath. “Hangman?”

“Your handwriting is atrocious.”

Tim laughed, his cheeks pinking slightly. Jason liked it and then wondered why it mattered. “Just take a guess.”

Jason said the first letter that came to mind. “X.”

Tim drew a circle for the head of the hangman. “You’re not even trying.”

“Fine,” Jason snapped, drumming his fingers against the table top. “What about ‘J’?”

Tim laughed, drawing a line underneath the circle. "You're bad at this."

"K."

Tim's lips parted in surprise, and then he silently filled in the first empty dash beneath the hangman with a capital letter K.

“I — ” Jason started, but was interrupted by Camila’s return.

She placed two orders of burgers and fries in front of them, one dish resting halfway over the hangman game Tim had started. “Here you go. One with no pickles, one with extra hot sauce.”

“Looks amazing,” Jason said, realizing how hungry he’d been.

“So, how did you guys meet?” Camila asked suddenly, looking between the two of them. Her eyes lingered on the crayons spread out on the table between them.

“We used to work together,” Tim answered, looking thoughtful. “Recently, we started seeing each other again.”

“For work,” Jason clarified quickly.

Tim ignored him, looking up at Camila with a secret smile. “Jason agreed to have some coffee with me at our favorite diner.”

“Oh,” she said, her smile growing wider. “Oh man! I’m so happy for you. Wait until I tell Ma, she’s gonna lose it.”

“We’re not — ” Jason gestured frantically with his hands, his voice annoyingly high. He learned his throat awkwardly. “This _isn’t_ — ”

“Say no more,” Camila said, holding up a hand. Then she clamped her lips shut and made a locking sign with her fingers. “Your secret is safe with me!”

“Thanks,” Tim said, jumping in before Jason could correct her. “Hey, could I have a refill on the coffee?”

“Of course,” Camila said, winking at Tim before picking her way back to the kitchen.

“Why’d you do that?” Jason hissed as soon as she was out of earshot. “Now she thinks,” he swallowed, his throat suddenly tight. “You shouldn’t have encouraged her.”

Jason’s complaint was met with a raised eyebrow.

“I love diners,” Tim sighed happily, pulling off the top part of his hamburger bun to add more ketchup. “The food is always so good.”

“You love diners?” Jason repeated dumbly.

Tim took a bite of his food and swallowed, licking his thumb. “Yeah. I like people watching. It’s fun to make up stories about who they are and what they’re doing.”

Jason sat back in his seat. He’d said as much to Dick last time they’d met up at a diner in Bludhaven. "You - "

Before he finish his thought, they were interrupted by a low, long wolf whistle. Roy was standing in front of their table, looking like he’d been dragged through dirty rain puddles.

“Good golly,” Roy said in a rich Southern drawl, eyeing Tim up and down. “Don’t you look like the perfect slice of cherry pie.”

Tim tried hard to keep a blank face, but Jason could see his shoulders slowly creeping toward his ears in embarrassment.

Roy sauntered closer. “I mean, _lord Jesus almighty_ , I could just eat you —”

“We get it,” Jason interrupted quickly.

Tim’s neck was fully flushed now. “Roy,” he said stiffly. Jason wondered if Tim was a full-body blusher. “Been a while.”

“How’s Dickie boy?” Roy asked, dropping the accent. “Still think he’s God’s gift to Gotham in that latex suit of his?”

“Something like that.” Tim’s lips quirked before he took another sip of his coffee. His eyes met Jason’s over the rim, and they were full of amusement. In his peripheral vision, Jason could see Roy staring between them with quiet interest.

With a soft thud, Tim set his empty coffee mug down and pushed back from the table, zipping up his oversized sweater and drawing up the hood to hug the back of his neck.

“Hey, where ya going?” Roy asked, and then tilted his head as Tim turned to fish his wallet out of his back pocket. “Not that I mind the view, darling.”

“Jason,” Tim said, throwing some bills on the table. “See you around.”

“Aww, Timmy,” Roy said as he passed him, sliding easily into Tim’s vacant seat across from Jason. “You get me so wet when you play hard to get.”

A PTA-looking mom shot Jason a dirty look from the booth behind Roy. Tim shrugged his shoulders and drew the hood of his sweater up and over his head.

“Can you not?” Jason grit out, ducking his head down to play with the diner’s row of multicolored sugar packets. When he glanced back up, Tim was gone.

“What?” Roy said, getting comfortable and slipping off his trucker hat. “He’s pretty.”

“Yeah, pretty fucking annoying,” Jason said, watching Roy pull Tim’s leftovers toward him. “Speaking of...what are you doing here, Harper?”

Roy took a handful of untouched fries from Tim’s dinner. He held them up, pointing a greasy fry-fist at Jason. “Rich boys,” he scoffed, stuffing them into his mouth all at once.

Jason sighed. “What do you want?”

“Who, me?” Something underneath Tim’s plate caught Roy’s eye. He nudged the dish with an index finger, so he could read what Tim had been scribbling at earlier. “Nothing much.”

“I thought you were back in Star City for awhile,” Jason said. “What’s so important that you couldn’t just send me a text?”

“Oh sorry.” Roy stretched out the word so it was four or five syllables, and smirked. “Did I interrupt your date?”

“I told you, I’m working on a case.”

“I know that,” Roy answered, grabbing the ketchup and squirting an Olympic-sized swimming pool in the middle of Tim’s fries. “That’s why I’m here.”

Jason raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, I’m broke and hungry,” Roy admitted. “But I do have some information on the case you mentioned a few weeks back.”

“What information?”

Roy pulled a beat up card from his back pocket. The edges were torn and stained brown, but there was a symbol Jason didn’t recognize in the center. It looked like a curved triangle with only two sides, a dot resting at the base.

“What’s that?”

“Found it on these guys in Star City. They were trying to smuggle weapons out of a high-security facility. Thank god we already had a guy on the inside who tipped us off, or else we wouldn’t have know about it. No alarms, no security trips, it was like they walked right in with a key.”

Jason whistled in admiration. “Inside job?”

“You’d think,” but Roy shook his head. “One of them had this in his pocket.”

“I’ve never seen that symbol before.”

“It’s used in coding, it’s part of some pretty advanced security hacking that makes the user invisible and untraceable,” Roy said. “They call it the ghost.”

“The ghost?”

“Yeah,” Roy said smiling. “I figured that had something to do with your missing kids. Too on the nose to be a coincidence.”

Jason flipped the card over in his hands, his mind drifting. If that were true, if these two ghosts were connected, then this was exactly the lead that they’d been hoping for.

“So.” Roy licked his fingers. “How’s birdboy doing?”

“Gotham’s finest boyscout, as usual.” Jason scowled, slipping the card into the pocket of his jacket. “I think he just officially earned his eager beaver badge.”

“Says Jason ‘eat me’ Todd.” Roy laughed. “Don’t be such an asshole.”

“Who cares?”

“I think Tim does,” Roy pointed out. It might have been a little more effective if he didn’t have ketchup pooling in the corner of his mouth.

Jason thought back to the morning Tim had woken up on his couch, the way he’d muttered Todd through the phone like a dirty word. “You high?”

“You offering?” Roy asked, waggling his eyebrows. 

“I don’t need Kori knocking down my door in the middle of the night,” Jason said and then shot Roy a nasty smile. “Not that I don’t enjoy your little visits.”

“Yeah, I remember,” Roy said, frowning a little. “You work alone.”

Jason looked down at the table.

“Anyway, I gotta bounce,” Roy said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve despite the full napkin dispenser resting near his elbow. “You sure you know what you’re doing?”

“I can take care of myself, Roy.”

Roy held his hands up, smiling. “Okay there, Jaybird.” He took his hat from the table, flattened the brim a few times before leaning over the table on his elbows. “Just one more thing.”

“I told you, I am not hotboxing the Batmobile, I don’t care — ”

“That was one time!” Roy laughed. “But that’s not what I was gonna say.”

Jason watched Roy dig beneath Tim’s plate to pull up the flimsy paper placemat. He’d gotten a grease stain in the middle, but Jason could still make out Tim’s chicken scratch from their earlier game.

Tim had written the alphabet out across the top in tiny, looping letters. Underneath, he’d outlined a phrase with a few spaces filled in but it was too small for Jason to make out from across the table.

Roy tapped the missing letters with his finger and grabbed a stray red crayon from the table. He glanced up at Jay before scribbling something on the placemat.

When he was done, he folded the paper in half a few times like a school note and then threw it at Jason’s empty plate. With another sly grin playing on his lips, he was pulling away from the booth without another word.

Jason watched him tip his dumb trucker hat at Camila’s frowning face before pushing open the diner doors and disappearing into the night.

Jason debated throwing the dirtied menu away, but curiosity got the best of him. When he unfolded the note, he stared at the words for a long time.

 

K I **S S M E**.

 

The stick figure hangman gave nothing away.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To my readers, I am so sorry I let this story hang out in the ether for so long. I truly love it but work has been killing my creative spirit. Lucky for all of you, I had the week off : )
> 
> I've been sitting on this diner scene for about eight months and I think it's one of the best things I've ever written - or I had the most fun writing it, anyway : ) I hope you enjoy it just as much.
> 
> Did I mention that I love Roy. Oh boy, do I! More Roy 2k17!
> 
> Did you like it/love it/want to go order Disco Fries at your local diner? Let me know in the comments -- feedback feeds my soul and keeps me motivated.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked something, say something! Even if it's just "wish I could leave another kudos" you have no idea how much comments keep me motivated.


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